


Sometimes it's easy

by Lebellerose



Series: Love in convoluted times [3]
Category: The Voice (US) RPF, The Voice RPF
Genre: Abusive Relationship, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, also depression, but still, described not that graphicly, tagged everything just in case
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2016-06-29
Packaged: 2018-07-18 23:32:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7335451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lebellerose/pseuds/Lebellerose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A bit of dwelling on Adam's past and present relationships.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sometimes it's easy

**Author's Note:**

> As usual, all events are fictional and no harm is intended to the parties involved. Plus english is not my first language so errors and blahblahblah.  
> Have I told how frigging difficult it was to tag this shit :)? Four words. Tagging. Needs. More. Nuance. Though I guess that would make posting a more lenghty process. Meh, who knows.

Sometimes it’s hard. Sometimes you are tired. Somtimes life just hits you, beats you, abuses you, won’t let you breathe. It destroys your self confidence the same way it breaks your ribs. Bluntly (crack, crack) and ruthlessly. And you are made to believe maybe it’s you. You aren’t trying hard enough. ‘Cause everybody’s got it rough, you cannot be the only crybaby. If you make the effort, you’ll be able to see change. So you dry your tears, puff out your chest, put up a front. “I’m fine”, you say. Soon the phrase becomes a chant you repeat both aloud and inside your mind far too often for it to feel real. To be real. 

Life keeps its relentless bad treatment and every day, though you won’t admit it, you have it worse. For it’s not only your ribs, it’s wrists, arms, legs, knees, ankles, neck, face, head, back. All bruises and scratches and cuts and fractures. You disregard them. “I’m fine, it’s nothing”. Yet there you are. Bandages. Long sleeves. Dark sunglesses. Scarfs. Even makeup (public figure that you are you don’t want any scandals, ha). Funny how you know you’d better keep it secret. Funny how now you’re so used to silencing your words and thoughts. Your heart. You don’t want to trouble anyone. Gotta be strong. Complaining is for those who really, truly have problems. And you really, truly, DON’T. There’s a perpetual smile on your lips, so you MUST be happy. No tears streaming down your cheeks like before. Both your heart and eyes feel dry. Sadness appears to have left you. It should be great. It isn’t. A hollow has started to grow inside you. A deep darkness where no light enters. You’ve just sensed it. However, how long has it been there?

Sometimes life is bleak. You are MISERABLE. But DENIAL is an armor you’ve worn so long that the plates and chainmail have become ingrained into your skin. You have your methods to feign that you are “fine”. So many little things serve now a double purpose. It’s an intricate system. The simplest, most innocent of actions hold terrifying meanings. And at the same time they do not. Certain lights shouldn’t cast shadows. For example, the multiple patterns drawn on your body have helped mask bruises more than once. It is accidental. Honestly, is it? And of course none of this you notice consciously. Nightmares may attempt to show the truth. Yet your armor filters all signs of unhappiness. Of problems. ‘Cause everything is “fine”. Life is good and dandy. No biggie. You sure as hell ain’t scared. Although sometimes it gets to be too much. Sometimes the pain is so much larger than you can bear. You are torn asunder mercilessly. Screeeeeaaaaammmss no one hears. He takes what he wants, no care for your desires. As he always has. When he sleeps is the moment to crouch on a corner of the room and. Close your eyes and. You are FINE. Okay?! Just. It is so hard to admit. Nothing feels right anymore. And sex equals suffering. In the morning he’ll begg you to forgive him. You will. Even if you half mean it. You dream this torture will someday end. Fantastic visions in which he changes and you two are bonafide content. Nonetheless, the cycle seems infinite. And something will give. You or him. 

That is the past. You escaped by the skin of your teeth. It should be the beggining of a new, more healthy lifestyle. It’s not. Worst is you effectively are damaged goods. This tiny, pathetic piece of shit. That’s how you feel. Where is the man you used to be? You can’t find him. Perhaps this wretch is all you’ve ever been.

Sometimes, however, it’s easy. After spending a long long while distancing yourself from others, believing you’re not worth more than garbage, someone came along and proved you wrong. Slowly worked his way into your soul. He didn’t bring fear with him. Or grief. For the first time in forever you experience what you should’ve had had from the get go. LOVE. Doesn’t hurt you. It builds you up, gives you strength. It reciprocates all you offer. It’s not carrying one another, it’s walking hand in hand together. Sometimes it’s holding onto his strong frame, braving the storms life puts you both through. And your demons. Some scars might never dissappear. Things might be harsh now and then. And sometimes you don’t feel up to scratch. But he’s always there for you, catching you when you fall. You can admit that you are not really “fine”. Even so, you’ll work to be.


End file.
